Toad in the Hole (19 page)

“To what?” GG asked.

“Longitude, latitude. A castle in Yorkshire, Allerton Castle,” I said.

Edmond flicked a lighter for GG. “If that’s the case, then whoever has the brooch has the coordinates.”

“Not exactly,” Travis said. “Before we went into the vault, Sonny turned the two into an eight.”

“Why’d he do that?” GG asked.

“He said he didn’t know us from Jack and felt a duty to the nation to keep the secret hidden. He suspected the swap decades ago. Something fishy about a dude named Barton who accompanied King Edward on one visit.”

“Barton Bixwell?” GG’s voice hit a pitched note.

Edmond placed a hand on her knee.

“The police, they were asking Edmond if he or I had ever met him.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Said that Barton had been in a hit and run. At the hospital, he kept uttering ‘Geneva McCarty has it.’ Called me a keeper.”

“How did you know him?” Travis asked.

“I didn’t. I knew the oyster had the Asprey stamp and called the shop before we left. I spoke to Barton on the phone, mentioned the amethyst brooch, and asked if he had any records on the piece. Excitable chappie. Said he could take a look so I made an appointment.”

We bounced conspiracy possibilities off one another, wondering if someone was being bribed. Each person’s theory one-upped the next until Travis’s tale of a mystical Turkish tribe losing their power-source, the amethyst oyster, sent their leader, (i.e., Ahmed) on a quest, pushed us over the edge.

“Next thing you’ll tell me zombies are taking over,” GG said.

My legs were stiff and I decided to walk the aisle to stretch them. After a few laps back and forth, I stopped before Travis’s seatback and rolled my neck. Edmond leaned into GG and they chatted about something I couldn’t hear above the noise of the train car. Travis had shimmied into my seat and was watching England speed past. The punk rocker, reenactment dude had removed his headphones and they hung on his neck. His eyes connected with mine and, forgetting the pond-washed hair and scent I wore, I smiled.

“Are you headed to a concert or something?” I asked.

“We’re English Civil War pike and musket men. There’s a reenactment this weekend in Yorkshire.”

“So what do you do exactly?”

“Me and my mates, we re-create battles.”

“How?”

“With costumes and weapons. It’s an absolute stitch. There are tents all over camp. We’re getting there early so we can have dibs on staying in the stable.”

“You room with farm animals?”

“Not quite. It’s more of a ruin, but warmer than a tent. It’s a big party.”

“In costume?” I asked.

“We’re always looking for more hands.”

I sat down in Travis’s chair and leaned into the aisle. “Do you have to pay to join?”

“Naw, we’re always short of volunteers. We could use all of you. You’re more than welcome to camp with us.”

“So where exactly is this reenactment?”

“It’s not far from the train station. One hundred and twenty acre spread of land on Allerton Park.”

I choked on my saliva. I must have misheard him. The accent could do that. “Allerton Park?”

“Yeah. Cool place. There’s also a castle owned by an American.”

NOTE TO SELF

GG and Edmond didn’t know about the engraving. A relief, yet scary. I’d hoped GG was the trouble magnet, but now it looks like that ball is in my court.

Civil War reenactment on the grounds of Allerton Park this weekend. Cute English guys, ale, and muskets. Are you kidding? This is golden!

The rule of three—brooch, painting, reenactment.

M
uskets
a
nd
P
ikes

T
he day was blustery gray with a soft wind that could be heard as it navigated through grasses, trees, and the tails of the fleece plaid shirt I wore. Travis and I followed a footpath along a stone wall that ran up a steady incline. At the top, we could see a host of white canvas tents pitched in a ‘u’ shape. There was a gap of barren land before another set of symmetrical tents on the opposite side. Gobs of people milled around the camps—women in bumpkin-inspired dresses and men in various colored knickers and matching vests.

“For the record, this is a bad idea and I am an unwilling accomplice. Rach, wouldn’t you rather be tucked away inside GG’s stone cottage.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked. “You could’ve gone with Edmond.”

“Didn’t you read the vibe? Those two wanted their alone time again. And to think with his bad back.”

“They are not romantically involved. GG was headed to the historical archives in York town center to get a detailed map of Allerton Castle grounds, and Edmond went to her house to make sure no unwanted visitors had appeared.”

“Yeah right,” Travis muttered. “Anyway, no way would I leave you alone with a bunch of helmet heads who dress up in period costumes and carry pikes to compensate for God knows what.”

I stopped in my tracks. “You sound envious.”

“Normal guys don’t need to carry a long stick to know their manhood exists.”

“Right.”

“Besides, I promised GG I’d keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I said as I unfolded the map I’d purchased in Stratford. Careful not to rip it in the wind, I spread the flapping map of Yorkshire out on top of the wall and smoothed the creases as best I could. With my finger, I traced the longitude and latitude.

Shimmying onto the wall, Travis crossed his arms. “What do you hope to find? A red X and a treasure chest next to it?”

“Ha ha, you’re so useful. What’s up with you? Why are you being grumbly about this?”

“I don’t know why you have to get so involved. We have no business meddling with some stolen gem. Why can’t you just drop it?”

Not really knowing why, I stuttered a cave man grunt. With a deep breath, I then composed myself. “I’m not a thrill seeker. I like my life, mostly. I didn’t ask to be a part of some adventure, it just sort of happened, slowly without my knowing. Like a puzzle that comes in an unmarked box and is dumped in front of you. You tip the pieces right side up and stare at the mess, then you look for the corners.”

Travis’s eyes narrowed.

“I can’t stop. There’s one piece missing from the box, like it landed in the crack of a seat cushion or under a sofa.”

“But we’re not on a sofa. We’re in a field on the grounds of a castle.”

My finger pressed into the map. “Not just any castle. Allerton Castle. We’re close.”

Swinging his legs off the wall, he hovered over my shoulder.

“What I can’t figure out is that painting Sonny gave you.”

“Hey, I won that.”

“If that’s what you believe.”

“Tonight, you and me, backgammon. Prepare for a whooping.”

“You honestly think you beat Sonny and he gave you that painting out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Yes I do!”

Carefully, I folded the map back into squares. “Travis, Travis, Travis. Sometimes you can be so naive.”

“My gaming skills are well above average.”

I smiled.

“You think he purposely let me win?”

As I tucked the map in my back pocket, a large group of armor-clad pikemen trooped past us. I nodded to Travis for us to follow.

“That’s just vengeful, saying he let me win.”

“Sonny wanted you to have that painting.”

THE HIKE UP THE PATH took longer than I thought. It wasn’t straight and dipped down through a valley with a running stream. We dawdled past a crumbling ruin that had chunks missing and grasses growing out of random cracks. The wind swung from breezy to spiteful, forcing me to raise the hood on my sweatshirt. People congregated from all directions and I wondered how many paths were on the property. Most everybody except us was already dressed for the battle. Some were roundheads and others, royalists. On the way up the hill the rambunctious opponents, argued about taxation raised through ship money. Around a curve at the top of a knoll we caught sight of the castle. Architecturally a mix of Tudor Gothic and Victorian periods, a portion of the massive sandy-toned quarried stone structure was under reconstruction. It wasn’t as grand as Windsor, but still was impressive.

“I’d like to get a look inside there,” Travis said.

“You and me both. Maybe GG could pull a few strings, get us a tour.”

“Do the coordinates lead to a ballroom or maybe the dungeon?”

I didn’t reply.

“Tell me something,” he said. “Do you even have a plan or are we flying by the seat of your pants?”

Rain began to spit and a drop landed on my hand. “The coordinates are approximate, not precise.”

“And at this non-specific location we expect to find?”

Travis was jolted when someone from behind slapped his shoulder. “Pick up the pace, mate. Rain’s coming.”

“Great,” he said.

Wind pushed at my back. “The Russian amethyst. The real one that was stolen from the scepter.”

“I’m not entirely convinced that this whole tale hasn’t been made up by Sonny. But if it is the real deal, the castle is on a hundred plus acres and we’re looking for a purple golf ball?”

“I think we have the clues, they just need decoding. It’s probably simple.”

Turning, Travis walked backward. “Probably?”

There was a lot of motion on this trip. Boating, walking, running, hiking, swimming. None of it planned in advance. It wasn’t that I was out of shape, but my calves burned and all I wanted to do was kick my feet up and stop moving so I could think. I knew the engraved digits led to the grounds of Allerton Castle Park, about one to two hundred yards north of the castle in the gardens, and I guessed the painting of the horse must be significant. I just didn’t know what their connection was. I needed an a-ha moment, but those were sporadic magic and you never knew when they would come.

Near the tents, we merged into a bigger ensemble of history buffs and beer connoisseurs. A woody layer of smoke from burning campfires hovered in the air as revelers gathered for some pre-battle cheer. Travis and I stood on the edge of a big group. Lured by warmth, we moved closer to the fire where a guy wearing a navy winter hat tinkered with a musket he’d perched on his knee.

“Is that thing real?” Travis asked.

He took a drink from a pewter goblet. “Damn straight,” he said. Holding onto his drink, he stretched his fingerless, gloved free hand out and introduced himself. “I’m Duncan. Nice to meet you.”

Half a head taller than I, Duncan had reddened cheeks and his warm eyes beamed a watercolor blue. After polite introductions, he belted a hearty chuckle at a couple of Americans ending up at an English war reenactment and invited us to the keg.

“Which side are you on?” he asked.

Beneath a fury of raindrops that gathered momentum, I dug my free hand into my sweatshirt’s kangaroo pocket. “Not sure.”

“Roundheads it is then. We’ve got some things you can borrow.” Duncan handed Travis and me a pile of ragged clothes, muddied in spots. “We can always use extras on our side.”

Pinching a pair of knickers, Travis asked, “So how does this all work?”

“It’s not complicated. You get into formation and rush the other side. How’d you two hear about this?”

“We met some guys on a train out of Sheffield. They invited us along,” I said.

“I’m from Bamford. My mates and I make up the Sheffield troop of the Essex regiment. We came in on the train too. I thought all Americans hung out in London. What brings you up north?”

“My grandmother is a local. Visiting for the summer is all.”

Duncan clanked my cup with his. “Aye, brilliant.”

As we were introduced to a lot of guys and a few girls around his camp, the rain steadied and we moved inside the regiment’s communal mess tent where troop Sheffield gave us some detailed strategy. “First battle starts in twenty minutes. Stand at attention until you hear the cannon, then advance and engage.”

The beer went down smoothly. “That’s it?” I asked.

“But the rain,” Travis said. “Won’t the battle be canceled?”

Duncan belted a hearty laugh. “If events were canceled every time it rains around here, we’d never leave the house.” Slapping Travis on the shoulder, he nodded at the bundle of clothes he held. “Tog up, mate.”

With trepidation, Travis slid a pair of standard issue woolly breeches over his jeans. Buttoning down the center, they were secured by a trap flap in front. The double-placket, cream jacket had tails that draped well below his waist and a wide collar that settled on his neck.

“Spin around,” I told Travis. He obliged and I threw my hand on my mouth. He looked behind his shoulder toward the back of the pants where creases created a poufy butt. I so wished I had my Polaroid camera until Duncan handed me the same outfit.

“You look smart,” Duncan said, and handed us dented metal vests and leather-lined brimmed steel helmets.

“You have to be kidding,” Travis said.

“One misplaced pike and you’ll be glad to be sporting the protection.”

“Rachael, this sounds rough.”

Ignoring him, I re-fastened my wet hair from my face into a ponytail. We both followed Duncan’s lead and poured another beer for the walk to battle.

“How many miles does the battle cover?” I asked.

Duncan marched with a light spring in his step. “Not far. The battle tends to tear up the field so we stay off the manicured grounds.

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Being in a farm field half a mile away from the castle wasn’t going to help me find missing treasure.

BEFORE WE ARRIVED, I’D worried that we’d be noticed. There was no chance of that. This war reenactment stuff was popular. Like hundreds of people popular. Travis and I both carried heavy pikes as we slogged our way down a field of slick wet earth. Duncan and the gaggle from the tent walked in front of us. There were at least twenty pikes in our troop and another half dozen carried muskets. I noticed I wasn’t the only girl, but hoped I didn’t look as disheveled as the two other women who had slid down a ditch on their behinds and now had mud and grass splattered on most of their clothes.